


A little foolish

by Quilljoy



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Everyone Has Issues, Light Dom/sub, Lovestruck Fjord doesn't know it, M/M, POV Fjord (Critical Role), Power Dynamics, WIS 7 Fjord, post episode 56
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 16:21:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18347288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quilljoy/pseuds/Quilljoy
Summary: After the Bright Queen's hall, Fjord muses on magic, control and Caleb.





	A little foolish

**Author's Note:**

> I had TWO WHOLE WEEKS to write this, and yet I finish my stupid-ass horny fanfic the day episode 57 goes live. How typical.
> 
> Lightly inspired by @smoreyellow's post "what if fjord has to help caleb take the harness off when the time comes, has to fiddle with the buckles and saw at them with his claws because they're on so tight and then gently rubs his thumb over the welts they left on caleb's chest"
> 
> (I mean, *VERY* lightly. I wanted more of that, but you know the boys. It wouldn't be Caleb if it didn't take the entire story for them to actually do something. )

Fjord had not uttered a word in presence of the Bright Queen, if only because his eyes kept focusing on Caleb. 

It was unusual for him not to share the burden of leadership. Be it awe, fear, or simple curiosity, Fjord allowed Nott to do the talking – she was the interested party, anyway, and were he the reason she wasn’t able to get her husband back, Fjord was pretty sure she wouldn’t stop at just cursing him for it. And as she talked and as Jester talked, as the Bright Queen’s face grew colder, Fjord realized that going to jail wouldn’t be such a bad thing. 

So he didn’t talk. His eyes kept running to Caleb. Was that the right choice to make for the group? Did he understand his plan? Widogast was a smart man. If only Fjord could run his plan through him first, to make sure they were on the same page, and that rescuing Yeza would be easier from the inside. As things were, however, Caleb did not return his gaze, nor could he, if he wanted, eyes fixed on the floor where he kneeled by Fjord’s feet. 

Until he asked for permission to stand, that’s it. Until swords and glaives and a variety of sharp implements were pointed at them, and Fjord thought, “Oh, great, exactly as I intended”, with a hint of pride and another of despair. Until Caleb proved Fjord he’d a plan of his own, which he also had not run by him, and instead of being thrown in jail or maimed or executed on the spot, the Mighty Nein were hailed as heroes – the Bright Queen appeased – and after weeks long of unrest, they had the, say, sponsorship of the Krynn Dynasty’s leader, and not hangman’s axe.

“I’m sorry for nearly getting us all killed,” didn’t quite cover it, Fjord thought the second the two of them were alone, so he said the next thing to come to top of his head: “I didn’t fucking agree with your decision back there. But we are alive. So thank you.”

Caleb shrugged – or as much as he could, the harness still tightening around him. There was an air too smug on his face for a man in bondage, for reasons Fjord could not pinpoint, but were getting on his nerves all the same. Just because they were free – for now – didn’t mean the danger had passed. Fjord mistrusted the Queen’s tears and attention, and had expected Widogast to share the same worries, at least. Yet there was lightness to his steps, as if the dodecahedron had been weighting far too much on him, and being rid of if, exchanging its power for the Krynn’s eternal gratitude, had lifted the heaviness off of his shoulders. 

That weight wasn’t his to take. But alas. 

Fjord lifted his thumb up, and begun counting.

“We get in, no planning. We ask for the– who knows what Nott’s husband’s been doing as their prisoner. We let Nott and Jester do the talking. We have been carrying their  _ God _ casually in our backpack.  Are you buying the Queen’s bullshit?” He asked, and then, once Caleb stared hard at him, Fjord lowered his voice – “Are you buying the Queen’s bullshit?” 

“ _ I _ am not buying anything. The price we paid was steep enough. She has granted us far more leniency than we were due.” With an expansive gesturing that could only have hurt, Caleb motioned towards their lavish furnishings for the rest of the evening. There was a guard stationed by their door, of course, but there was also a polished stone floor, and a bed fit for kings, and fresh, clear water falling in a continuous stream, cascading from a pipe on the wall to a marble pool that reflected Fjord’s face once he peeked on it. Each one of them had earned their own room, with the exception of Beauregard and Caleb. “Mercy doesn’t come cheap. And, for once, I’d like to enjoy it.”

“Well, I’m not stopping you.”

“Thank you,  _ sir _ ,” was his bitter answer. 

Motherfucker.

Caleb fell to the nearest chair, an elegant arrangement surrounding a small coffee table, where dried fruit and jam had been laid for them as supper next to hard bites of cheese. The bindings made it hard for him to maneuver his feet out of his shoes, and Fjord watched with dark amusement as Caleb pulled his legs up, only to be cut short by the leather once he made to unlace his boots. Fjord crossed his arms and leant by the wall, and made no move to help at all. 

“You’re having far too much fun with this,” was Caleb’s only comment once, with a grunt, he finally manage to free one foot. 

“I think thou protest too much, slave.”

The binds were clearly not tight enough, as Caleb managed to flip him the bird. The tension in Fjord’s back eased into laughter once a boot hit the wall next to his ear and, lucky him, Caleb still had to wrestle his other shoe off before he could send another missile in his direction. 

“Not so easy to drop that fireball on me now, is it?”

“That’s not a laughing matter.” Caleb huffed, head down, inspecting one toeless sock. 

“That’s what you say, but all I hear is: maybe we get to keep your arms tied after all.” 

“That’s not a laughing matter,” he said once more for good measure. He’d toed his socks off and was now on the process of inspecting his cuffs. If Fjord didn’t know better, he’d say Caleb was flushed. “I did nearly kill you all. Before.”

Pulling a chair, Fjord propped himself next to him. Mayhaps the Krynn had been afraid of giving them any sort of weapons, after all, given that there was no proper tableware for the food in front of them. Fjord stabbed a piece of cheese with what looked like the crossbreed of a fork and a toothpick. 

“You’re not that powerful.” He quoted Jester on that one.

“I am.”

“We’re alive.”

“For now. It won’t last if you keep not paying attention and doing stupid…” Caleb bit his words, shaking his tied up arms, “… _ scheiße _ .”

“Big words for some wizard who can barely move.” 

Caleb, who had been trying to untie himself for the past minute, grew increasingly frustrated once he realized the tugging only made the harness tighter. That, or Fjord was finally getting in his nerves. Fjord quite hoped that was the case. Widogast had always been skittish in nature, but after being possessed, he became particularly closed off. Perception wasn’t one of Fjord’s strongest suits, but even he had realized the halting tone to Caleb’s voice when explaining himself. The carefully chosen words. “Ever had anything like that happen to you before?”, Fjord asked, because he’d been waking up coughing saltwater, feeling his body not his own, seeing Vandren everywhere. The Incubus was nothing compared to the gargantuan yellow eye permanently focused on him. Caleb missed a beat when replying back then, and Fjord just knew. 

Given the case, he was expecting more fight to him. But Caleb had relented to his plan. He bared his throat to the collar and did not flinch once. It made… A hidden part of Fjord, the same part that had longed for Uk’otoa’s power, the small, thrilled part that wanted to  _ learn _ , and  _ grow _ , this piece of him longed to push, and push, and see how much Caleb was willing to accept. 

_ Provoke _ , Uk’otoa had said. And so he had. 

(Maybe it wasn’t Uk’otoa messing with his head, after all. No, he thought, with an odd fondness, maybe it was someone else entirely.)

“You know,” Fjord rested his head on one hand, watching intently as Caleb tried working a spell, “you can ask for help.”

“Yes, sir.” 

Fjord winced at the words. Caleb’s inflection of the title dripped venom once he acquiesced, dropping his bound hands to his lap as he waited for Fjord to draw near, his fingers finding purchase of the leather and looking for the opening. 

Alright, so maybe Fjord was not making the wisest decisions lately. Caleb had all the reason to be upset, and angry, and it still did not change how Fjord felt about it, how the word made his stomach flip and his head spin. He thought it was funny. It was, wasn’t it? Nott herself had laughed at their predicament. 

“You can drop that now,” he said, sheepishly. Fjord grabbed Caleb by the wrists and found no resistance, one thumb slipping underneath the leather, finding it so tight the skin underneath had reddened. He rubbed the bruise away, but it didn’t fade. The strap trapped Caleb’s circulation as well as his movement; it couldn’t have not hurt, but Caleb said nothing. Of course, Fjord thought, eyeing the cut marks along his arms. Of course, Caleb had already faced much worse.

“The Krynn clearly still see me as a slave. Beacon or not, hero or not. I’m of the Empire. So this is how I’ll stay. Master.”

“Drop it.” 

“Oh, am I making you uncomfortable?” 

Fjord didn’t reply, choosing to unhook the cuffs from where they hung, tied to a metal ring on Caleb’s collar. There were six, seven inches of leather between his wrists and his neck, so that there was still space for sparse movement but, whenever Caleb would attempt to disentangle himself – or anyone else would tug at his wrists, to make him move faster – the collar would throttle him. That’s what Fjord had asked for, back in the stables, wasn’t it? To make the harness tighter, so it’d look used, and yet that made no sense. 

Of that, Fjord knew by his own experience with the Shepherds.

“There you go,” he said, rather roughly, once his fingers had done work of releasing Caleb’s hands. The wizard stretched his sore arms. It was unusual to see Caleb without the coat, bundled up in a mess of scarves (Frumpkin, often one of them), so Fjord couldn’t help but stare. Days with Caduceus on the road with them, and he still looked skinny, although “frail” was a word Fjord would be reticent to use. “I… might have crossed a line there. Sorry.”

“It was not a bad decision,” Caleb granted him, at last, after a moment of consideration. He had been vulnerable in the Queen's throne room, but it had been a farce. It was strange to think someone like that could scorch him and their friends with a snap of his fingers. If it was possible, Caleb's reaction to his plea had only made him more admirable under Fjord's eyes. He hated his decision, of course, but while he'd stupidly stood without words or gestures, Caleb Widogast had acted. 

It was strange to think of him as anything else. But that moment, in the throne room, perhaps that had been a glimpse of who Bren had been before. 

The will to become someone else, that, Fjord understood. 

He rubbed the back of his neck. 

“Maybe I should have consulted you on it before.”

“There are times when consultation on certain matters becomes irrelevant and we are forced to act.”

“Man,” he laughed. “Can you read minds as well?” 

Shrugging, Caleb pointed to his neck, his hand trailing downwards as he gestured towards the harness as well - “Can you-?” 

“Yeah,” Fjord hurried towards him, “yeah, of course.” 

Unwrapping Caleb became quite the task. It became obvious the goblins had had little experience with humans, and Caleb himself had been no human at the time, the tiefling body shaped almost as tall and slender as his own figure, but not quite so. He'd modelled himself after Jester and, as such, his frame became smaller, his body growing into the harness as he became human once again. It was a strange process to witness. Among beasts, Fjord had chosen to become larger and imposing. Caleb's skin became a striking ocean blue, much like his eyes, and he lost the fire touch to his hair, going otherwise unchanged. He'd become as unsuspecting as his human self was in the Empire. Head down, eyes down. (And all of a sudden, that power to him. It was mesmerizing.)

“Look,” he begun, as his claws made deft work of the leather, cutting them where they had grown so tight it was impossible to remove them comfortably. “What I did back there… It was a pretty shitty thing to do.”

“We're all pretty shitty people, Fjord.” A grunt escaped his lips when the leather fell from his chest, and Fjord couldn't precise it as relief from freedom, nor pain, from where one of his claws had grazed Caleb's nipple under the thin fabric of his shirt. 

“Sorry doesn't cut it, sometimes, that's all that I'm saying. If there's a way for me to make up to you, let me know.”

“Another favor?” Caleb asked, derisive, and for no other reason than Fjord remembering their blood sacrifice, and remembering how stupid he'd been, he flushed. That was enough to ease Caleb's mood, it seemed. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. It didn't look happy, but then, Caleb seldom did. Fjord itched to fix that. “We do what we have to do. You do know that.”

“Do I?” 

“Avantika.”

Her name still felt like ramming into water, the shock of it cutting his breath short. That, he realized, once the coldness evaded his limbs, made Caleb look slightly more pleased with himself, although the guilt quickly caught up to him and he turned away, as it was often the case. 

“This is nothing like Avantika,” he said, after a moment of consideration. “Why do you feel like it is?”

“You were uncomfortable with her.”

“I was curious. Eager.” Fjord shook his head. “Stupid.” 

“Maybe. But you also did not want to sleep with her.”

“Avantika was a… remarkable woman. An attractive woman.”

“That, she was.” Caleb said, not pushing the issue.

It felt like cheap victory; like playing with someone far more experienced in a field not meant for the likes of him, and being handed his win out of pity. The sudden gentleness of his tone, when he’d been inquisitive before, grated on Fjord, who only realized he was trying to prove himself once he was midway through another sentence.

“I thought she could give me insight. Power, maybe.” He’d been foolish. Fjord gestured to the pressure marks on Caleb’s wrists, and neck, and shoulders and chest. His eyes lingered perhaps too long. “This? This couldn’t possible give you anything.”

“Ah. But it did give me something, didn’t it?”

“You couldn’t possibly have known.”

Caleb didn't seem to mind Fjord's stare as he undressed, even if now, without the help of his disguise magic, Fjord could see every other mark left by his previous master. The letter of recommendation to the Academy was still safely tucked somewhere in his pockets… Widogast was powerful, yes. He crushed Avantika's magic with his own and sentenced her to death by deciphering her code. Was it worth it? If Fjord thought a reward like that was waiting for him… Well, now he knew Uk'otoa's plans for the servants who disobeyed it, and Caleb's scars were soft and faded while Uk'otoa's grasp around his body still felt real enough to disturb his every sleep. 

It was not a question of obtaining any more powers, now. He'd taken, and taken, and his patron thought it to be the time his favored servant started to give. 

They were all bound, one way or another. 

“The difference between foolhardiness and bravery is having an idea of the outcome. Calculated risks,” Caleb reminded him of one of their first exchanges. He'd the air of a teacher, something that quite matched his overall appearance, the bookish look of him in spite of the dirt and now the- well. Blinding marks. Fjord thought it to be rather interesting, if that was the word to use, but to be honest with himself, something had tugged at him– to see Caleb down his foot, as if Fjord had finally acquired some mastery over him and, consequently, over magic itself. No unexplained powers, no demands nor torments to his sleep. Only control, only Caleb. 

Caleb slipped into the water, sighing in relief as he did. 

“Sometimes you gotta get a little foolish.”

Fjord drew near. 

Caleb didn't mid, or if he did, he didn't look back, even if Fjord's steps echoed in the bedchamber. The Krynn palace was the most glorious place he'd set foot in. Caleb, however, acted unimpressed. He'd closed his eyes and slid deeper into the bath, only opening them afterwards when the cold caught up to him, and he thought best to produce a small flame, holding it close to the water. 

“Hmn. I thought they'd be wise enough not to let us use magic here.”

The flame danced gracefully above his fingers. Fjord could not be more charmed if Caleb had cast Friends upon him. He kneeled by the pool, not knowing if he wanted to touch the water or Caleb, before testing the temperature with his fingers. 

“Do you want to get in?”

Fjord considered for a moment. 

“It isn’t enchanted. Nor poisoned,” Caleb added, a low chuckle making Fjord tremble. He laid one hand over Caleb’s shoulder, and the purple mark where the leather had squeezed was a garish reminder of Fjord’s own actions, bright over all other dozen little cuts and burns, all etched into Caleb’s body. Running his thumb over it, Fjord longed to erase it, but he also longed to carve it there, so that every other scar would fade beneath. 

A shiver ran down Caleb’s spine. 

“Still cold?”

“Still cold.”

“Let me warm you up.”

He brought his hand to Caleb’s neck, kneading the skin there, softly, great care put on not scrapping him with his claws. Despite his previous complaint, Caleb was flush with warmth, and when Fjord’s fingers drew up, dragging water with them and washing Caleb’s hair, massaging his scalp, he gave a satisfied quiet little purr, much like that cat of his. The skin was taut under his hands once he slid them down, once more, tension coiled in Caleb’s muscles, his back stretching with pleasure once Fjord applied pressure between his shoulder blades.

“Can I–?” 

“ _ Please _ ,” Caleb sighed, before Fjord could even figure out what he’d been asking for. His hand slipped under water, over Caleb’s chest, then lower, still. It was stupid, reckless,  _ selfish _ , once again, but Fjord leant forward, mouth pressed nearly against Caleb’s ear, fingers tracing down Caleb’s stomach before curling around his cock. Fjord found him half-hard and willing, and he growled, a fit of sudden possessiveness washing upon him once Caleb spread his legs and tossed his head back, to better accommodate him.  His lips met Caleb’s neck, shoulders, the shell of his ear. The last time this wave of desire had overtaken him, Fjord had been sharing quarters with Sabien, and it had been just as impulsive, just as foolish. “ _ Bitte _ .”

This wasn’t Sabien, though. In spite of all of his jabs and the sharpness of his tongue, Caleb was sweet under his hands, parting his mouth ever so slightly to let out the quietest of moans. His face grew hot and as red as his hair. As much as Fjord had been pleased to see him flush and look down when Fjord had commanded him to, playing master and servant as they often found themselves doing, he much preferred to see Caleb like that. There was that strange part of him that longed to conquer, and Caleb– Caleb would’ve let him, he realized, kissing his way down Caleb’s neck and placing a bite there, Caleb, who thought certain things were not meant to be asked but taken instead. It was a tempting thought. Not a wise one. Not a good one. But tempting, all the same. 

When Caleb came, he did silently, biting on his bottom lip and hiding his face on the crook of Fjord’s neck. Fjord held him all the way through, muttering sweet nothings to his ear, saying he was  _ good  _ and  _ beautiful, _ praising him for everything Caleb should’ve known about himself already. It felt like a stupid thing to do. Caleb had not been simply good. He’d been dragged in chains in front of a Queen and he’d conquered. He’d been everything Fjord longed to be.

He’d been great. 

Not difficult to remember, not even when he was with his eyes closed, recovering his breath with a flush spread across the bridge of his nose. 

Impulsively, Fjord kissed him on the top of his head. 

And then he walked away. 


End file.
